Page 49 of The Contract

“And if I tell you a secret…”

I lean in slightly, my breath warm against his jaw, watching the way his own deepens—slow and measured.

His hand slideshigherup my thigh.

His touch isfirmer. More confident.

I exhale, dragging my fingertips along his jawline, the stubble sharp beneath my touch.

“It should be the most captivating secret you’ve ever heard.”

Damien turns into me as if we’re sharing a sacred moment. His cologne is an overload I’m alreadystrugglingto temper.

His dark gaze locks onto mine. Searching.Challenging.

“People notice the small things.”

I don’t look away.

Neither does he.

A slow, unbearable beat passes between us.

We’restill too close.

With a deep breath, I pull back, putting inches between us that feel like miles before standing.

“And when dancing?—”

I hold my arms out expectantly.

Waiting for my dance partner.

Waiting for the controlled, practiced steps of our arrangement.

Damien stands, smooth and deliberate, but there’s somethingdifferentnow.

Something in the way his features sharpen.

The faintest shift in his expression.

A glimpse of the man people call the Wolfe of Fifth Avenue.

Idon’texpect him to take control.

Idon’texpect him to pull me into his body like he owns me.

Like heknowsmy body.

Even though hedoes.

His hand settleslowagainst my back, pressing me flush against him, his grip firm but unhurried. The other closes over mine, his thumb brushing the inside of my palm, his touch sending a slow pulse of heat up my arm.

My breathhitchesas he moves.

His steps are precise. Dominant.

Apush and pull. Effortless. Seamless.

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